


Buttons & Spoons

by compo67



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Animal Transformation, Crows, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Spells & Enchantments, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2019-02-01 19:44:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12711687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/compo67/pseuds/compo67
Summary: Jared comes from a long line of Witches and Jensen was brought up in the world of the non-magical Mundanes.An accident occurs just weeks before their wedding.It’s not just their annual cemetery walk that is affected--it’s so much more.[Reverse Big Bang 2017 - Complete]





	Buttons & Spoons

 

 

 

Link to the LJ Post for Art, click [HERE](https://sillie82.livejournal.com/435072.html). [Leave Sillie some love!]

 

Every year, the Historical Society of Lancaster, New Hampshire, holds its annual series of cemetery walks throughout the month of October.

And every year, for the past ten years, Jared and Jensen have worked for the Historical Society as guides on these walks.

Except for this year.

“I cannot believe you,” Jared grumbles, his black robes trailing behind him in elegant swoops. “I cannot even believe you right now. You know we’re booked every weekend this month? And then there’s our wedding, Jensen. Our freaking wedding!”

It might look like Jared is talking to himself. He storms down Crescent, towards Cherry, which will eventually become Main. No one else accompanies him on the sidewalk; not that anyone shorter than him would be able to with his quick, angry strides. Even the crisp, curling leaves on the sidewalk shrink away from Jared’s path.

Jared stops on a dime. The stray strands of hair that refused to be held back in his ponytail waft in the sudden change of pace.

“Hey!” Jared shouts. He looks up, scanning the elm trees nearby. “Oh my god, what are you doing?!”

A handful of black feathers falls from the branches of one tree.

“Jensen!” Six foot four of pissed off Witch yells louder at the appearance of these feathers. “Stop that, right now! You’re gonna make yourself bald!”

The crow from which those feathers fell looks at Jared and tilts its head.

_“All of your screaming is making me nervous. I can’t help it.”_

“Well, try to help it. And stop dawdling. You’ve made us late enough already.”

_“Sheesh. Look, I said I was sorry. What more do you want?”_

Crows are intelligent birds. Jared knows a lot about them thanks to the various familiar courses he took in college. For a while, he wanted to go into familiar veterinary sciences. But the program was more than he could afford and he did not do well when it came to treating injured or dying familiars in either human or animal form. Crows though, they’re resilient. Crows will gather together to not only mourn their dead, but to try and figure out what killed a member of their murder. And any time one crow is threatened, a murder will form and chase the threat in a behavior called mobbing.

But Jared did not agree to marry a crow.

The Lancaster water tower looms in the distance, taller than any of the trees. Jared tears his eyes away from it to focus on his route towards the cemetery.

_“Are you going to tell Anaya what happened?”_

“No,” Jared grumbles, tugging on his hood. “I’m not telling anyone and neither should you.”

_“You’re the only one who can hear me.”_

“Don’t assume.”

_“Thomas didn’t hear me.”_

“He didn’t understand you. That’s different. And I can’t believe you don’t even remember your original spell. Haven’t I told you? Never deviate from our book. Never cast spells for the first time without myself or another experienced Witch present. Never cast a spell you don’t write down!”  

Arriving at the cemetery gates, Jared pretends to fiddle on his phone. Jensen perches himself on the stone wall nearby, beak down, clearly sulking. Jared issues instructions for him to stay near, do not make a scene, and to please, please, please stop picking at his feathers.

“And don’t try to do anything ridiculous,” he sighs. “Just because you have wings doesn’t mean you can go flapping around everywhere.”

Jensen holds up one of his thin black feet. _“I solemnly swear not to do anything ridiculous.”_

Jared shakes his head.

He’s never known Jensen not to do anything ridiculous.

 

 

Two years ago, Jared and Anaya traveled one hundred and twenty-five miles to Tilly Brook, a town of the Mundane. They went on the first Sunday in March and hunkered down in a soup and sandwich shop, where they pretended to read books and newspapers. Jared remembers the sandwich was okay, but the soup was incredibly watery.

There, they took occasional notes from the flock of Girl Scout mothers at the table nearby. For the longest time, the moms focused on chatting about their husbands and older children in college. Anaya flicked pieces of her straw wrapper at Jared.

When it became clear that the moms needed a push to get on track, Jared stretched out and yawned. One of the moms screeched as her tea spilled. Several moms rushed into action and once the commotion ebbed, they finally decided to start their meeting. Two new moms were being shown the ropes, which involved a basic outline of core values. Anaya held her pen at the ready.

Overall, the meeting was informative and helpful. Jared took his own notes and on the car ride back to Lancaster, they brainstormed how to apply these core values to their own community: strong sense of self, honesty, challenge-seeking, healthy relationships, and community problem solving. If these values could be taught to Mundane little ones, they could be taught to future Witches.

It’s been a year and a half since Jared and Anaya, plus four other adults, started the Witchlet Scouts.

Their newest scout, Rose, doesn’t understand the point.

“I want to learn spells,” she complains, tugging on her mother’s robes. “I don’t wanna walk around dead people.”

Anaya shoots Jared a look. Jared responds with a nod. They’re not getting involved. Joining Witchlet Scouts is by no means a requirement for the children of Lancaster. Parents are welcome to enroll their young ones of any gender for some after school and weekend care, activities, and engagement. But Jared emphasizes that they will never force a child to keep attending.

This is Rose’s second meeting, and her mother Jade’s second attempt at trying to integrate her. Jade kneels and takes her daughter’s hands. She speaks in a muted, serious tone about the importance of learning respect for nature’s cycles.

Rose unleashes a spine-chilling scream. “I wanna go home and watch Doc McStuffins!”

There are times when Jared rethinks his decision to be a Witchlet Leader. Those times are few and far between, but once a child starts screaming and throwing themselves to the ground, his patience and understanding wear thin.

Jade attempts to pick Rose up from the ground. This results in Rose using all of her seven-year-old efforts to become dead weight, while simultaneously flailing every limb. Jade almost gets a pink shoe to the face.

“That’s enough, Rose,” an Irish-accented voice rings out. “Stand up. Don’t be causing more trouble for your mother.”

Everyone within a three-mile radius breathes a sigh of relief.

Cliona walks up to Rose and looks down. Rose sniffles, shakily gets to her feet, and complains to her ma Cliona about the lack of Doc McStuffins at the Lancaster Cemetery.

“You’ll be going on this walk and behave,” Cliona instructs. “When you and your mother get back, I want to hear what you learned. Then we can talk about watching what you want on the television.”

The sun begins to disappear, pulling away familiar shadows and replacing them with the shadows of gravestones and crypts.

It’s time to start the first cemetery walk of the night.

Anaya introduces herself to their first group--eight children and four adults. She outlines the importance of the Lancaster Historical Society and the preservation of rituals, tradition, and rites. Although much of Mundane society fears the past and death, Witches embrace both. Every Witch must learn the significance of nature and the cycles of sowing, reaping, and death.

Only when a Witch embraces the truth of the world around them can they become experts at casting spells and performing rituals.

A piercing caw echoes out from the top of a tall gravestone less than twenty feet away. Several of the smaller children jump; even some of the preteens feel a sudden chill.

Jared glares at the crow.

 _“I know the significance of nature and all that stuff and I still got shafted.”_ The crow pecks at the feathers underneath its wings, twisting in a way that doesn’t exactly comfort the children.

“Ignore the bird,” Jared says, motioning the group forward. “Let’s get on with our business and leave it to its own. Like maybe _not_ picking at its feathers.”

“What a time for Jensen to get food poisoning,” Anaya comments, walking in step with Jared. “You sure you don’t wanna go keep him company?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Jared spots a black, round shape flitting from crypt to crypt. “No, it’s okay. He’ll survive. I gave him herbs before I left. He should be sleeping and staying out of trouble. Hopefully.”

“I can stop by after this. Bring over some aloe vera juice.”

“Thank you, but he’s got to learn that other people can’t always be looking after him and cleaning up his messes.”

“You make it sound like he ate a sandwich he found behind a radiator.”

Their shoes crunch over the gravel path as they approach the first stop on the tour. Jared holds his left arm out, guiding their group from the path to the grass. Anaya worked a well-being and protection spell on their group before setting out. Better to be safe than sorry when treading from a cemetery path.

Jared and Anaya hang back while the first historical reenactor begins her story. Madame Saanvi requested to be first on the walk. One of the handful of elders in Lancaster to truly enjoy volunteering, she has worked the tour for the past fifteen years. Jared doesn’t blame any elder who prefers to stay inside, but Madame Saanvi left a strong impression on him when he was a child going through his first cemetery walk.

Madame Saanvi draped her wheelchair in layers of black silk and lace, so that the few flashlights, lanterns, and tealight candles reflect on its surface. Her eldest son wheeled her down from the path to the grass; Jared will wheel her back up after the last tour goes through. Some of the newer reenactors need index cards. Madame Saanvi talks about Olivia Lancaster like the two of them have been friends--despite the fact that Olivia Lancaster died three hundred years ago.

A simple smoke and spark spell starts the walk.

While Madame Saanvi tells the story of Olivia Lancaster--a biracial, single, bisexual woman and mother who defied every concept of respectability in the late 1600’s--Jared keeps an eye on Jensen.

“Sometimes I think I’m too hard on him,” Jared murmurs to Anaya. “But then he gets himself into the stupidest shit.”

“He hasn’t had as much experience with spells or magic as we have.”

“I know. And I try to keep that in mind.”

Anaya bumps their shoulders together. “Maybe you’re a little stressed about the big day, huh? I was a wreck and a half the month before I married Roger. It seemed like nothing went right.”

From the grass, Jared hears, “And it was because those Mundanes tried to hang her, stone her, or burn her alive--that Olivia Lancaster founded this town. So we could thrive, practice our gifts, and pass this knowledge down to generations like yourselves without those threats. And this is why, children, you are safer in a Witch’s cemetery than you are on the streets of any Mundane town.”

Wait for it.

Three, two, one…

A ring of fire erupts around Madame Saanvi’s wheelchair, the flames reaching as tall as most of the children. The entire group gasps, even the adults, and multiple children cling to their parents.

Jared turns to Anaya, to tell her how that scared the hell out of him when he was small and it’s always the best part of the entire walk.

His words die in his throat as he notices a black object fly around Madame Saanvi, crowing and squawking, its feet and wings extended. This is not part of Madame Saanvi’s speech or spells.

The children scream and adults rush to get back to the path. Madame Saanvi swats at the crow from her wheelchair. Anaya and Jared race towards her--the controlled fire gone. One of the teens calls out that the crow had better learn its lesson.

A few of its feathers are on fire.

 

Lancaster started as a community exclusively for Witches and their families.

Many of the families in Lancaster today can trace their roots back to the late 1600’s. The Padaleckis are one of the original nine families to help found Lancaster.

Jared’s great-great-great grandmother specialized in fire spells. In the Mundane town she had been born in, she was accused of dancing naked with the devil under the light of a full moon. This was only partially true; she had been dancing naked under the light of a full moon, but not with the devil. As the Mundane townspeople moved to convict her of devil worship and then pitch her into the ocean, she and the suitor she had been dancing with burned down the mayor’s barn and fled.

Since then, most of the Padalecki family have practiced fire magic.

Some Mundanes might say that Jared comes from a long line of dangerous pyromaniacs. But not a single member of the Padalecki clan has burned down a barn in the past one hundred and fifty years.

There was just that unfortunate incident with Jared’s great-great uncle, who had never paid proper attention in school.

Jared digs out his great-great-great grandmother’s spell book. He pulls it out of the trunk in the attic, hauls it two flights down, and carefully sets it on the marble island inside the greenhouse.

Most of their everyday family spells can be found in a three-volume, leather-bound set Jared keeps on the mantel. His great-grandmother combed through the original and created an edition of the most useful and relevant spells. Ten years ago, before she passed, Jared’s mother had that edition professionally printed into three volumes.

The predicament he’s currently facing calls for bringing out the big guns.

He slips on a pair of white gloves in order to touch the old spell book. With his hands on the cover, he closes his eyes and says a brief prayer of gratitude before asking his ancestors to help him find the answers he needs.

_“You look so serious.”_

“In case you haven’t noticed, this is pretty serious,” Jared grumbles. He looks over to Jensen, who has perched himself on the empty birdcage at the end of the island. Great Aunt Val used to own a parrot. It frightened everyone but Great Aunt Val.

Jensen tilts his head. _“I’ve only seen you open this book up once before.”_

“That was when my mother died.”

_“Yeah. I remember.”_

“So then you know this is serious.”

_“I was just trying to break the ice.”_

“I told you not to interfere with the walk last night and you got a bunch of feathers singed. Not to mention the kids you scared.”

 _“Look, I explained this to you--there’s just something about fire that makes my bird brain go, ‘Hey, fly right towards that.’ And Madame Saanvi made the flames a lot higher this year.”_ Jensen pecks at the cage. _“You can ground me, if you want. I’ll stay in this cage.”_

With a hand on the first page of the book, Jared shakes his head. “No. I don’t want to ground you. I just want you to be safe, Jen. And we need to figure this out in three weeks, preferably less. Way less.”

 _“If anyone can figure out how to undo this, it’s you.”_ Jensen flits over and pecks Jared’s shoulder. He looks up at Jared with his green, beady eyes that somehow still manage to look adorable. Jared sighs and pats his head, then invites him up on his shoulder. Jensen squawks and takes care not to dig his nails into Jared.

The vote of confidence goes a long way.

However, it fades as the day wears on.

Several family members have made edits to the book over the centuries. Not everyone’s handwriting has been legible, and some edits make very little sense. There are a few places where Jared notes incorrect ingredients or sequences. Every now and then, he scratches in a few notes of his own, using a quill and ink. He uses a digital scale to measure out the correct amount of lavender needed for a protection spell. His ancestors were way, way off.

Unfortunately, the first quarter of the book yields no answers.

Jared heads back into the house at Jensen’s suggestion. After he sets the electric kettle, he peers into the fridge, thinking to find something suitable and quick for dinner. On pages fifty-three and seventy-one, he found two spells worth trying later, but they are both detailed, complicated, and not the sorts to be kind to shortcuts or modern help. He’ll have to get fresh ingredients, let them dry, boil them, and work with the current phase of the moon.

 _“There’s spaghetti,”_ Jensen mentions, perched on yet another one of Great Aunt Val’s bird cages. She loved that parrot. It often helped her in the kitchen. She claimed it was incredibly helpful with spices.

“We were supposed to make that together.”

_“I’m still here. I can help out.”_

“I really just want something quick so I can get back to work.”

_“Okay. Order pizza. There’s cash in my wallet.”_

“No. I’ll just microwave something.”

Jensen extends his wings. _“Dude. You don’t have to go through the whole book today. Order a pizza and we can watch something on Netflix.”_

The idea tempts Jared. When Jensen moved in, he brought with him his plush leather couch, which is far more comfortable than any of the furniture Jared owned. They’ve had five years living together to make that couch as comfortable as possible. Curling up on the couch, wrapping himself in blankets that smell like Jensen, would give him a sense of normalcy.

It was difficult enough to go to bed last night without Jensen beside him.

Crows don’t sleep in beds. Jensen tried. He slept on the headboard, standing up, beak tucked into his feathers. The sight of it was cute; the experience was lonely.

“No,” Jared sighs, rubbing his eyes. “The two spells I found that might not work are going to take at least a few days each to do. If I find more, that’s gonna take even longer.” Options for dinner include a frozen TV dinner or cereal. Jared decides on both. “What do you want to eat?”

_“Do we still have eggs?”_

“You want to eat eggs?” Jared’s nose wrinkles. “Isn’t that… cannibalistic?”

Jensen opens his beak. _“Eggs sound really good right now. And maybe some berries. Or nuts. I mean, I could always go out and hunt for field mice.”_

“You’re handling this a lot better than I would. No--do not go hunting for field mice. Be a vegetarian crow. Except for the eggs. At least I bought those. One or two?”

_“Two, please. I wouldn’t eat the field mouse in front of you.”_

“So kind. So thoughtful. How are you going to eat these?”

_“Can you put them on the floor?”_

Jared sets down some paper towels on the kitchen floor and places two eggs in the center. He leans against the counter, waiting for the microwave to produce his own dinner, and watches Jensen.

Crows have incredibly strong legs and feet. Jensen approaches the eggs sideways, tilting his head to get a better view. _“Does this look weird?”_

One hand on his chin, Jared shakes his head. “No, not at all. It’s not weird to be standing here, watching my fiance eat raw eggs on the floor.”

 _“Oh, good. I was worried it would be,”_ Jensen says, his tone coated with sarcasm. _“This is just what instinct tells me to do. I can’t help it if it’s weird. You don’t have to watch.”_

The microwave pings. Jared turns to tend to his dinner. He can’t help but look over his shoulder to see what exactly Jensen plans to do with these eggs.

Jensen leans on his right foot, lifts his left, and places it on top of the first egg. His head bobs forward, but misses the egg. Jared swears he can hear a frustrated sigh. Black feathers puff up after another attempt. On the third try, Jensen’s curved beak makes contact. Quickly, he goes at it again and after a few more pecks, the egg breaks open.

Jared takes his dinner out from the microwave and pokes at the baked ziti. Jensen approaches his dinner with much more enthusiasm.

“That’s disgusting,” Jared gasps.

Looking up, Jensen flaps his wings twice. _“Hey, I told you not to look. This is tasty. In a weird way. Blech, the shell tastes god awful though.”_

One foot raised, Jensen then asks, _“Do we have cranberries?”_

 

The Padalecki family spell book contains more than handwritten spells.

Relatives left behind various flowers, herbs, and plant specimens in between the pages for future reference. Some are to provide guidance for spells, charms, and poultices. Others are to inform the reader about omens.

Leaves from a red maple tree fall onto the sidewalk as Jared walks to work.

He pauses, looks up at the tree, then at the leaves, and continues.

Red maples aren’t the only species of tree on this block. Leaves could have fallen from one of the paper birches, a dogwood, or white ash.

It’s just another note to add to his already long list of observations and worries.

This morning, he dropped his comb. When he went to add pepper to his eggs, he knocked over the pepper shaker. And when he went to make toast, he found the loaf of bread turned upside down.

Jensen insisted that these were minor details.

Mundanes see things differently than Witches. Jared nodded at the comment, but said nothing in response. He collected his books and notes, satchel, robes, phone, and wand all while issuing specific instructions to Jensen.

Right before Jared’s twenty-eighth birthday, he interviewed for a part-time teaching position at Lancaster College. Earlier this year, after paying his dues and earning his keep, he started working full-time. Even Witches need health insurance and paid time off.

His specialties are fire spells, math, and philosophy.

Lancaster College sits on Crescent Avenue and Birch, in between the Historical Society’s headquarters and the post office. The Lancaster Wellness Center sits right across the street, with the Lancaster Public Library at the end of the block.

Jared likes plans. He enjoys knowing what he’s done, what he’s doing, and what he will do. Jensen, on the other hand, doesn’t like to dive into details--past, present, or future. And though they’ve been friends for ten years, dating for eight, engaged for six, Jared still finds Jensen’s carefree personality somewhat unnerving.

Life, combined with their different personalities, kept them engaged for such a long time. Jared also had to smooth out his worries about marrying a Mundane.

Jensen was on the Beltane committee this year and proved that he can honor tradition, carry out rituals, and respect the past, present, and future.

Beltane and Midsummer had been enchanting.

They both felt physically lighter.

So they set a date. Well, actually, they set two dates: one for the traditional Witch ceremony in Lancaster, to which Jensen's closest relatives will attend, and another the following week for Jensen's extended Mundane family and friends in Yorktown.

“I trust that everyone finished their reading on Grimassi, Morrison, and Robbins.” Jared starts off class by collecting papers. “Today we’re getting into crystals. Can anyone tell me what color of crystal is most appropriate for healing?”

A few students raise their hands. Darren answers incorrectly, but Jared appreciates the willingness to participate. He asks everyone to put on their robes and please approach his desk.

Witches do not constantly wear their robes. Jeans, sneakers, Led Zeppelin t-shirts exist in Lancaster, especially in Jensen’s closet. But robes add an extra layer of tradition, seriousness, and protection. No one can ever truly predict how they will react to certain crystals. And Jared does not want to get another irritated parent storming in and demanding to know what the hell he’s teaching.

Jared pulls on his robe and remembers the first time Jensen was fitted for one.

Sighing, Jared resumes setting out crystals on his desk.

“You’ll each get a color wheel,” he explains as students draw forth. “This will be on the final, and you will not be able to use your color wheel then, so I suggest devoting a good chunk of time on it. We have white as an all-purpose stone, red for love and fire, orange for success, yellow for luck, green for fertility, blue for healing, purple for intuition, and black for protection.”

Of the twelve students total, a handful take notes. Jared tries to slow down so they can write without worry. He goes onto explain that they will need to memorize twenty-five crystals and their magical associations, plus the base colors. Lily asks him to name his personal favorite.

“Favorite in a practical sense,” Jared answers, “would have to be clear quartz.” He picks up a piece. “Clear quartz can be associated with protection, healing, psychic ability, and power. But it can also boost any other crystals or herbs. Good to have around.” He picks up another crystal. “Personally, my favorite is bloodstone--”

Four students scream at the sound of a bird pecking at the one window in the classroom.

Jared shoots a glare at the bird, which happens to be not just any bird, but a crow.

“Please,” Jared says to the class, but looks at the crow, “let’s settle down and ignore the bird. Ignore the bird who should _not_ be plucking its own feathers!”

The crow bristles, pecks at the window, and flies off in a huff.

“Take your seats.” Jared runs a hair through his hair. “And turn to page sixty-eight in Robbins.”

He holds the bloodstone crystal in his left hand throughout his lecture.

 

 

“If I fall asleep, wake me up. Just try not to peck at my face, please.”

_“Since you’re in bed, shouldn’t you sleep?”_

“I have three more chapters in this book about reversing spells. I want to finish this tonight and get started on the next one tomorrow. I can do it.”

_“Sorry I can’t help out with the research. Crow eyes are not the greatest for reading. But if you need me to find a shiny object, I’m your crow.”_

“It’s fine. I read faster than you anyway.”

_“True. But sleep is good. You’ve earned it.”_

“It’s been a week, Jen. I don’t want to rest if the solution is somewhere in one of these.”

_“I know, but if anyone’s gonna find it, it’ll be you.”_

“I’m telling you, the leaves from that maple tree meant something.”

_“It means that leaves fell from a maple tree, Jared.”_

“No--it means that wisdom and love are behind me.”

_“Is this a bad time to make a comment about your ass?”_

“Jensen!”

_“Sorry, sorry!”_

“There’s a reason why they fell after I walked past. It’s not a good sign.”

_“I think you’re reading too much into that. Mittens sneezed yesterday.”_

“This is going to take more than Mittens sneezing to fix.”

_“But c’mon, a cat sneezing is a good sign. So it cancels out the maple leaves.”_

“Mittens isn’t even our cat.”

_“Can you take a deep breath? You’re making me nervous.”_

“It’s been seven days since you… your accident… and I’m not a single step closer to figuring out how to reverse anything.”

_“You’ve been working your ass off to figure it out. Don’t be so negative. I’m okay. I’m getting the hang of flying.”_

“You’re sitting on the headboard, Jensen. Please don’t make any of this sound normal. It’s not. And even though it’s great that you’re not flying into windows or laundry lines, don’t you see how that can be a terrible sign?”

_“Yeah, but we don’t have to talk about it before going to sleep.”_

“So when are we going to talk about it.”

_“Hey. No arguing in bed, remember?”_

“Should we go argue in the living room?”

_“Why do we have to argue? Look. I’m not gonna lose my humanity. I’m not gonna go full crow on you until next year, when I dress up as The Crow.”_

“...that is a horrible costume idea.”

_“Was that a smile? Did I just see a smile right there? I think I did.”_

“Oh, go peck an egg.”

_“I would. I’m kind of hungry.”_

“So fly over to the kitchen.”

_“You know how much effort it takes to fly? Way more than walking.”_

“Then walk.”

_“I have tiny little crow legs! It would take me hours to reach the kitchen.”_

“I suppose you want to sit on my shoulder while _I_ walk to the kitchen.”

_“Well, how kind of you to offer.”_

“Fine. I can’t sleep anyway. I might as well read through a few more pages in the book.”

_“Okay, but we’re going to bed at a decent hour tonight. I need my beauty sleep.”_

 

Jensen can’t cast spells as a crow. Jared has him try a variety--from the most basic water cleansing spell to a more advanced tea spell. None work.

Exactly two weeks after Jensen’s accident and one week before their wedding, Jared decides to implement drastic measures. He gives his classes a break from lectures and draws up a lesson plan that involves them shadowing and interviewing members of their community on the use of crystals and fire spells. Of course, he doesn’t let them completely off the hook. He still expects a five page paper on the experience. This frees him from needing to be in the classroom.

Quite a few folks have asked about Jensen.

Anaya has been the most persistent, encouraging Jared to share whatever it is that’s going on. If it’s a spat or cold feet or an argument, she insists that she can help. Jared frequently debates telling or asking her for help.

However, if this somehow got out, the elders of Lancaster would ban Jensen from practicing magic, which would mean he’d never be able to improve, which would then mean he couldn’t share a large part of Jared’s life and identity. Plus, the consequences would extend far beyond them as a couple. Any other Mundane allowed to live in their community would be subject to intense scrutiny and judgment.

It could set a dangerous precedent.

Three days after Jensen’s accident, Jared sat down with the Director of the Lancaster Wellness Center and apologized for Jensen’s absence. He clearly detailed that Jensen’s mother in the Mundane world needed him to help her with downgrading her house, as cooking and cleaning his childhood home was getting to be too much for her to handle. And Jensen would have made arrangements for this in advance, but in an effort to try to pack by herself, his mother fell and sprained her ankle. He left at midnight, drove past Tilly Brook and arrived at Yorktown, where cellphone reception is notoriously spotty. They'll both be back in Lancaster in time for the wedding, but for now, Jensen is unfortunately out of reach.

That’s the story everyone in Lancaster has eventually received and Jared aims to stick to it.

Jared and Jensen usually spend their Saturday nights on the couch in the living room. Being on the couch could mean a variety of things: rewatching John Landis films while passing back and forth a can of Pringles, trying out new spells, or just having slow, cozy, warm sex.

Cold, dark Saturday nights like these are perfect for sitting in front of the fireplace and trying different fire spells. Jared could twist individual flames into the shapes Jensen might trace into his shoulders. If Jensen had fingers.

Instead, Jared sits alone in front of the fireplace, books all around him.

Jensen expressed a desire to collect shiny things throughout the house. Not wanting to be a Debbie Downer, Jared didn’t make a fuss. However, he did ask that Jensen keep his running commentary to himself.

It is cute to see Jensen walk around--his little feet carrying him.

But crows can’t absentmindedly play with someone’s hair or hold their hand or sit shoulder to shoulder. Jared sighs.

No use in sulking.

He flips through a chapter on willow and its association to the underworld. This book subscribes to the theory that willow trees can be found at crossroads, and outlines willow's usefulness for binding thin birch branches to the ash handle of a witch’s broom. This symbolizes the covenant between the witch and the night queen. Witches are the stewards of crossroads magic--gatekeepers at the entrance to the Otherworld.

Interesting, but hardly helpful for his situation.

 _“We need to dust under our bed,”_ Jensen announces, flying into the living room. He lands on the mantle. _“Quoth the raven.”_

“You’re not a raven,” Jared murmurs. He skims the rest of this chapter and moves onto the next chapter, which is all about walnut trees. “Ten points if you can guess what tree is called the Wealhenin.”

Jensen lifts a small foot and scratches his feathers. _“I don’t have to guess, I know that one. Walnut trees. Instead of ten points, can I have some cranberries?”_

Jared smiles. “I left the bag open for you, Jen.”

_“I know, but what if you want some? You don’t wanna eat anything my beak has touched.”_

“What a charmer.”

 _“Don’t you know it,”_ Jensen quips.

Maybe one of the things Jared has missed most in these past two weeks has been the sharp smile that would accompany a line like that. That stupid, ridiculous, endearing crooked smile. Jared’s mother told him to marry someone who’d make him roll his eyes and then smile right after.

_“Hey.”_

“Hmm.”

Jensen flutters down from the mantle and pecks Jared’s knee. _“You know I love you, right?”_ Green eyes look up at him.

“I know you do, bird brain.”

Another peck. _“C’mon. You know crows mate for life.”_

Jared’s smile fades. “You’re not a crow, Jensen.”

_“Duh. I’m just saying. Maybe there’s a reason why I’m a crow now, instead of any other animal.”_

The fire crackles. Jared looks over at the flames.

He reaches over and pets Jensen on the head. Jensen’s feathers are soft and sleek.

“That’s a good point,” Jared says, his voice hushed. “That’s a really good point.”

Magic is the force of limitless possibility.

Jared has never been frightened of it before.

 

Mundanes and Witches can get along just fine.

If they can overcome centuries of mistrust.

Witches leave their communities and towns like Lancaster all the time. They venture out into other Witch communities or live with Mundanes.

Thirty-two years old, and Jared has never left Lancaster or its sister town, Eola, for more than two weeks at a time. The Mundane world doesn’t appeal to him like it does to others. He’s seen it, been in it, and that’s all he cares to know or understand. Jensen will occasionally go back and visit his mother and sister; Jared has gone with twice.

Most of his understanding of the Mundane world comes from living with a Mundane.

Jensen moved to Lancaster ten years ago. His great-great-great grandfather had been a Witch, and moved from his Witch community in Texas to Tilly Brook. He went on to marry a Mundane woman and never returned to Witch communities after that. From then on, Jensen’s family stayed entrenched in the Mundane world.

It’s entirely possible that Jared and Jensen might never have met--if Jared hadn’t cast a spell and Jensen hadn’t looked through his family tree. Curiosity--and maybe a touch of desperation on Jared’s part--brought them together.

 _“I miss swimming,”_ Jensen sighs, flitting from counter to counter in the greenhouse.

“You have a perfectly good birdbath outside,” Jared murmurs. Five days to the wedding and he’s pulling out all the stops. He has a list of emergency spells he promised his mother he would never ever try. Only three so far have any relevance to their situation. Unfortunately, they have all been extremely detailed and time-consuming. The bags under Jared’s eyes are as deep as the industrial cauldron he’s been using to brew herbs.

Jensen pecks at the red scarf Jared tied onto him this morning, after Jensen complained he felt cold. _“There’s no way my feathered butt is gonna go sit in that ice bath. Can you knit me a sweater? I’m freezing. Why did we agree to have our wedding in November?”_

“Samhain.” Jared pours the latest brew into a mug and sets it aside to cool. “It’s not that cold.”

_“Dude, I am like, three pounds of feathers and bone.”_

“Well, Jensen, if you were able to remember the spell you were trying to cast, maybe this wouldn’t take so damn long. You know, I haven’t slept more than eight hours in the past three days because I’m either sick with worry or trying out spells. I get that you’re cold, but I am cold, tired, and just a little at the end of my rope here.”

Perched inside one of Great Aunt Val’s cages, Jensen issues a quiet apology.

Jared sighs, runs a hand through his hair, and looks at his three pound-scarf wearing fiance. “I’m sorry, Jen. I’m just… covered in henbane and mandrake, and I can’t find the specific kind of hellebore to grind up and make a sigil out of.” Some of these spells date back hundreds of years, and while his ancestors have worked hard to keep up the greenhouse, some plant or herb varieties didn’t make it.

He’s had to cut corners in terms of time, ingredients, and effort.

The lack of control has created a solid rock of anxiety in Jared’s stomach.

And the doorbell ringing pitches that rock into motion.

_“I’ll see who it is!”_

“No,” Jared snips, “you need to stay here, Jensen.”

_“What? Why?”_

“Because I can’t make something up about my new pet crow or a familiar in training.” Jared takes off his robes and puts on a sweater while walking out of the greenhouse. “Stay here until I get back. Please.”

 _“Fine,”_ Jensen mutters. _“I’m gonna go take a bath.”_

“Just stay out of trouble!” Jared approaches the door with caution. He looks like a completely stressed out mess. Totally appropriate for someone getting married in less than a week. And extremely appropriate for someone getting married in less than a week to a fiance who has been turned into a crow.

One sharp breath later, and Jared opens the door.

Anaya stands there, all five feet three of her, holding a large bouquet of parsley.

“You have got some nerve not returning your maid of honor’s phone calls, text messages, emails, carrier pigeons, and smoke signals!”

Jensen scared away all the carrier pigeons. “I’m sorry,” Jared starts, “but I…”

He receives a bouquet of parsley to the chest. Anaya muscles herself inside. “Roger and I are worried. Beyond hey, how are you worried. We’re talking about I’m about to kick your ass worried.” The state of the house makes Anaya’s concern skyrocket. “You’ve holed yourself up here--what is it? What could it be that’s got you like this, Jared?”

She takes two steps towards him and places her hands over his. “I see hurt and fear in your eyes. Tell me what it is. Tell me so I can help.”

Since they were kids, Anaya and her family have given Jared a basket of sweet date cookies for Eid. She taught him how to say, “Eid Mubarak,” when he was seven and she was nine. Her mother still bakes cookies for him, even though Anaya now makes her own.

“I can’t,” Jared blurts out. “I can’t tell you.”

“Bullshit! How many times have I kept your secrets? When you spilled Madame Logan’s hematite water, who didn’t tell? When you broke your mother’s emerald necklace, who took the blame for it so you wouldn’t get in trouble?” She tugs on Jared’s sweater. “And when you cast that spell to find your companion, who gave you the piece of clear quartz to do it?”

He thought that spell would fail. He did it on a whim. He was lonely, his mother had started to get sick, and he had spent his whole life learning magic--why shouldn’t he use some of it for himself.

The day after he cast the spell, Jensen showed up in Lancaster, looking for information about about Witches. He meant to go to Eola, but heard Lancaster was friendlier towards Mundanes asking questions.

Jared opens his mouth, unsure of what he’s about to say.

_“HELP! Jared!”_

“Shit,” Jared gasps. He places the bouquet of parsley on a table in the foyer and bolts. Anaya follows, moving just as fast, though she reacts to Jared, not because she can hear the call for help.

“Jensen! What is it?! What’s going on?!” Jared storms through the house, into the greenhouse, and out into the backyard. For once in his life, he doesn’t bump into anything, stumble, or falter.

He heads right towards the bird bath--where a hawk three times the size of Jensen, has his fiance scrambling for safety.

 _“This fucker--GET AWAY FROM ME!”_ Jensen struggles underneath a mess of talons, wings, a piercing beak, and shrill screeches. The hawk doesn’t give up as Jared and Anaya approach.

“Oh my god, oh my god--fuck.” Jared prepares to lunge at the hawk.

Anaya picks up a rock, aims, and hits the hawk on the head. She quickly looks for another rock. When she finds none, she takes off her shoe and whips it, where it hits its intended target.

“Get the hell away,” Anaya shouts and takes off her other shoe. The hawk detaches from Jensen and attempts to go for Anaya. She uses her shoe like a baseball bat and knocks it off course. The hawk lands on the grass, disoriented, and finally decides that it’s had enough.

Jensen stumbles around in the bird bath, also disoriented. His feathers are ruffled and when Jared picks him up, some have blood on them.

 _“Came… outta… nowhere,”_ Jensen mumbles. _“Minding my own fuckin’ business and…”_

“You’re bleeding,” Jared says, wrapping Jensen up in his sweater. “Jen, you’re hurt.”

_“Yeah, but did I fuck him up? Like… even just a little?”_

“I don’t care about the hawk, I care about you, you clod.”

Anaya taps Jared on the shoulder. Jared flinches and holds Jensen close to his chest.

She eyes Jared, then looks at the crow in his hands, rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “You feathered idiot. I should have known.”

The jig is up.

 

 

Every Witch community creates its own set of specific principles and beliefs. However, the National Organization of Witches set forth The Thirteen Basic Principles. Every school, college, and university within Witch communities are required to teach The Thirteen. A mandatory test must be passed with a score of ninety-five percent or higher by senior year in high school.

The Thirteen were part of Jared’s childhood.

His mother placed emphasis on the first four principles.

They would sit on the front porch in the summertime and slice apples. It was their time together. She was an elementary school teacher and he loved having her all to himself for six whole weeks.

Principle one: we practice magic to attune ourselves with the natural rhythm of life forces marked by the phases of the Moon and the seasons Quarters and Cross Quarters.

Principle two: we recognize that our intelligence gives us a unique responsibility toward our environment. We seek to live in harmony with Nature, in ecological balance offering fulfillment to life and consciousness.

Principle three: we acknowledge a depth of power far greater than that apparent to the Mundanes. We respect Mundanes and strive to honor those who share their greater knowledge, wisdom, and care.

Principle four: calling oneself a Witch does not make a Witch; neither does heredity, nor the collecting of titles, degrees, or initiations. A Witch seeks to control the forces within themselves, without harm to others and in harmony with Nature.

Jared feels his grip on these principles slipping.

Anaya helps patch Jensen up. She minored in Familiar Veterinary studies, and interned with a crow. Mr. O’Brien had never been attacked by a wild hawk, but she learned a few things about tending to the wounds and bruises of birds. It helps that Jensen cooperates, lifting his feet, wings, and beak whenever asked.

Jensen and Anaya can’t communicate. It seems to be a privilege reserved solely for Jared. This would be flattering if it wasn’t so frustrating and terrifying.

What if something happens to Jared? What if he loses consciousness or his own ability to communicate to others? Who then would be able to understand Jensen?

Throughout the next two days, Anaya and Jensen try their best to help Jared through several anxiety attacks. He doubts himself as a Witch, a student, and a partner.  

Nothing works.

Nothing helps.

Even the assistance of his best friend, and arguably one of Lancaster’s most talented Witches, he makes no progress.

On Monday, the caterer and the baker ambush Jared at home. They unleash a rapid-fire series of questions: will there still be a wedding? Why doesn’t Jensen bring his mother to Lancaster early? What on earth has got Jared looking so depressed?

A magazine article stuck to the fridge provides Jared with a list of things he should be doing on the week and days leading up to the wedding.  

One of the helpful hints encourages future brides and grooms to get plenty of sleep.

Coffee flows freely in Jared’s veins.

Vendors, planners, family, and friends--they all have questions, require directions, and want to run through details.

Jared’s second cousin Julia corners him on Tuesday and tries to bully him into getting a mani/pedi with the rest of the bridal party. He snaps at her and absolutely refuses to spend time doing something as frivolous as getting his nails done when he has rose brew on the stove. He’s supposed to make it in the hearth, or in this case the fireplace, but he doesn’t have the time, patience, or energy to tend to a cauldron and fire.

Just because he was born of Witches, raised by Witches, and educated as  Witch does not entitle him to automatic answers. Or any answers. Or any results.

“Stop that!” Jared gasps, putting down his mortar and pestle. He runs over to Jensen, who was peacefully perched on the mantel until thirty seconds ago. For whatever reason, Jensen decided to hop off of the mantel and land on the coffee table, where Anaya left a handheld mirror.

“Would you _stop_?!” Jared lifts all three pounds of Jensen off of the mirror. “Why are you pecking at it? Stop it. You know better.”

 _“I’m sorry!”_ Jensen wrestles against Jared’s hold. _“It’s irritating! I keep thinking I see another crow, but I know it’s just me, but I swear that fucker keeps giving me the Eye.”_

“That fucker is yourself. Sit here, on the mantle, where I can see you.”

_“Can you turn that thing over, then?”_

“Fine, yes. Just stay still.”

_“Can I sit in the cage?”_

“No, you cannot sit in the cage.”

_“Why not? I’m not hurting anyone.”_

“Why would you want to sit inside a cage?!”

_“I can’t explain it! I just… feel safer inside one.”_

Jared paces in the living room. He resumes grinding together a mix of basil, blessed thistle, and peony. “Jensen--I just need you to calm down and please let me work. We have two days left, I’m under a lot of pressure, and I… stop picking at your feathers!”

Jensen flies out of the living room.

“Don’t fly away from me!” Jared shouts, but hardly means to follow up. He has the ingredients for three different spells going all at once.

This hardly follows keeping in tune with nature.

“Fuck!” His rose brew starts to boil over. “No, no, no, no…”

As he wrestles with the brew, the herbs, the tree bark, the platter, and the sigils for the next desperate assortment of spells, Jensen flies into the kitchen and deposits a silver dollar at Jared’s feet.

Within the next two minutes, Jensen adds two gold buttons.

One Monopoly game piece.

And three silver spoons.

It all forms into an impressive pile on the kitchen floor. Jared stares at it for a brief second. The urge to scream rises from the pit of his stomach to the back of his throat. He had to cancel the massage he had scheduled for tomorrow. He had that appointment booked for months as a wedding present to himself.

There will be no massage.

There will be no three-tier wedding cake.

There will be no wedding if Jared doesn’t…

The doorbell rings. Jensen starts crowing and whips off towards the door before Jared has a chance to properly react.

“Living room,” Jared grits out. “Now.”

_“It’s just Anaya…”_

Jared opens the door and accepts the briefest of hugs in all of history from Anaya. She hands Jared two paper grocery bags full of supplies from Madame Saanvi, who was officially consulted on the situation--in a purely hypothetical sense. Anaya carries the third bag, which contains a few pieces of equipment Jared didn’t have on hand or needed extras.

“Did anything work?”

“Does it look like anything worked?” Jared unpacks the first bag. “What’s the jalap for?”

Digging through the bags, Anaya replies, “For luck. We’re going to need it.”

“Great. And hazelnut?”

“That’s for your coffee.”

“Even better.”

“Doesn’t Jensen have a spellbook or a portfolio? Without the spell he meant to cast, this is like finding a needle in a haystack.”

Jensen watches the both of them from his place inside one of Great Aunt Val’s cages. Jared’s chest squeezes for completely different reasons that he thought would happen two days before his wedding.

Jared shakes his head. “I already looked. Everything in there were spells I know he knows. Nothing new. And this is definitely something new.”

Araya takes out a piece of parchment and spreads it out on the island. They put together everything for the next spell, except for the required cups of rose brew.

Jared moves to get it.

And ends up slipping on the pile of spoons.

 

Acacia. Aconite. African Violet. Agapanthus. Agrimony. Alder. Alfalfa. Allspice. Almond. Aloe. Alyssum. Amaranth. Angelica. Anise. Apple. Arnica. Ash. Basil. Bayberry. Bay Laurel. Betony. Bindweed. Birch. Bistort. Blackberry. Black Cohosh. Bloodroot. Bluebell. Burdock. Calendula. Cardamom. Chamomile. Chestnut. Chrysanthemum. Cinnamon. Cloves. Coltsfoot. Comfrey. Cyclamen. Daisy. Dandelion. Devil’s Claw. Echinacea. Evening Primrose. Eyebright. False Solomon’s Seal. Feverfew. Fir. Forget Me Not. Foxglove. Garlic. Geranium. Ginger. Goldenrod. Hawthorn. Hazel. Heather. Heliotrope. Hellebore. Holly. Honeysuckle. Hyssop. Indigo. Jerusalem Artichoke. Larkspur. Lavender. Lemon. Lungwort. Mandrake. Maple. Marigold. Marsh Mallow. Mayapple. Mistletoe. Monarda. Monkshood. Motherwort. Mugwort. Narcissus. Nettle. Nutmeg. Oak. Okra. Olive. Oregano. Parsley. Pennyroyal. Peppermint. Pine. Poinsettia. Poppy. Rose. Rosemary. Saffron. Sage. Southernwood. Stinging Nettle. St. John’s Wort. Sunflower. Sweet Pea. Tansy. Thyme. Unicorn Plant. Valerian. Violet. Walnut. Water Lily. Witch Hazel. Wolfsbane. Wormwood. Yarrow. Yew.

Agate. Amber. Amethyst. Bloodstone. Carnelian. Diamond. Garnet. Hematite. Jade. Jasper. Lapis Lazuli. Moonstone. Obsidian. Opal. Quartz. Sapphire. Tiger’s Eye. Turquoise. Zircon.

They try it all.

Every single one.

In dozens of combinations, with hundreds of incantations, with as few shortcuts as possible.

Nothing works.

Anaya leaves at three in the morning, when the moon shines bright and their spirits dim. She offers to stay. More than once. Jared sends her home.

Jensen fell asleep an hour ago. He settled inside a cage Jared placed on the kitchen island for him. As he slept, he tucked his beak into his scarf. Before she left, Anaya tied a piece of rope dipped in rose brew to his left foot for protection.

She also sewed three pieces of clear quartz into Jared’s pillowcase with white thread blessed by the light of the moon.  He knows to add a few drops of peppermint oil onto his pillow before turning in.

Exhausted, he picks up Jensen and trudges over to the living room.

Tomorrow--or today--is the day before their wedding.

The Big Day.

The Thirteen Principles run through Jared’s mind as he places Jensen on a pillow next to him on what was once his couch. It eventually became their couch. And while Jensen prefers to sleep perched on the headboard, Jared needs him closer than that tonight.

For the first time since his mother died, the house feels cold. A chill haunts every shadow, every sliver of light, and every exhale.

Sleep chokes Jared’s thoughts and puts them down tortuously slow. The couch still smells like Jensen. Shouldn’t that comfort him? Spark a bit of hope? Perhaps he should swallow his anger--his stubborn pride--and beg for assistance from the elders.

Any punishment from the elders would be worth it if he could feel skin in place of feathers.

Jensen sits up and runs a hand through Jared’s hair.

“Please don’t,” Jared begs, leaning into the touch. “Please don’t do this to me here. Not where I can’t wake up.”

“You can always wake up,” Jensen whispers and lies down. “I can go, if this is too much.”

Jared closes his eyes and tucks his head under Jensen’s chin. “It’s the quartz, isn’t it? I’m just dreaming.”

“I don’t know. But I feel like I can breathe again.”

“You’ll be gone in the morning.”

“Don’t come morning.” Jensen’s voice sounds as clear and light as a bell. He sings these lines languid and rich. “Don’t come light. They may be lies, say it, say that we’ll be alright--if we stay tonight.”

Warmth floods the couch.

It feels like the first time Jared held a piece of bloodstone. The first time he put on a pair of robes. The last time his mother held his hands.

The very first time Jensen kissed him.

Every time they had sleepy, lazy Sunday morning sex on this couch or their bed. All the times they meant to bake cakes, cookies, or pies in the kitchen and instead got distracted by drinking margaritas and making out. That one summer three years back when Jensen started doing more advanced fire spells and he spelled out his name in cool, soothing flames down Jared’s back. Every winter when Jensen inevitably steals Jared’s sweaters and Jared inevitably steals Jensen’s gloves.

That one Saturday two months ago, when they went to the drive-in movies and totally, absolutely meant to actually watch the movie. They ended up blowing each other in the back seat.

That trip to the beach, which turned into a trip to a hotel room, which turned into a trip to the ice machine down the hall because otherwise Jared would not be able to sit for a week. And that one time they went to New York City and got kicked out of an art museum for making out in the impressionist wing.

Each laugh, moan, gasp, and shout as the bed shook, or the couch creaked, or the car rocked, or the hotel front desk called and told them that people had made several complaints about the level of noise they were making at one in the morning.

Every time Jensen reached for Jared’s hand. Or slipped his arm around Jared’s waist. Or placed his chin on Jared’s shoulder. Or played with Jared’s hair. Or reminded Jared to come to bed soon.

All those cups of coffee Jared would make in the morning.

All those songs Jensen would sing at night.

“My hands are shaking. This is a complicated love with me.” Jensen murmurs into Jared’s hair. He places a piece of bloodstone in Jared’s right hand. “Keep your eyes closed, I’ve seen it, baby. I’ve seen where this goes.”

That time Jensen promised Jared’s mother that he would take care of Jared.

In this life and the next.

“Stay tonight,” Jensen sighs. “We’ll be alright, tonight.”

Jared doesn’t care for sunlight.

 

The sun rises regardless of how Jared feels about it.

And it continues to shine, often directly in his eyes, as he goes through the motions of being an adult with twenty-four hours until marriage.

Anaya earns herself a Maid of Honor of the Millennium award for her contributions to keeping Jared’s family and the entire community of Lancaster at bay this whole week. But her extraordinary powers only go so far. People demand to speak to Jared or Jensen about wedding arrangements. And a wedding rehearsal cannot happen without at least one of the grooms present.

Jared asks Jensen to stay home and focus on helping Anaya with seating charts, flowers, and candles. Anaya texts updates and questions every half an hour.

From ten in the morning to eight o’clock at night, Jared handles wedding arrangements. He plasters on his best fake smiles and trudges through the hours. His cousins descend on him and accuse him of shutting them out, distancing himself, and refusing to share his fiance with them. He laughs, shakes his head, mutters out a few jokes, and continues on with rehearsal--to which he arrives late and leaves early.

He meets with the caterers, baker, florist, linens vendor, tailor, town hall, photographer, band, and stylist.

The whole day is nothing but a depressing ocean of people wanting his signature, approval, confirmation, or opinion. He still cares about the wedding, but this is nothing like had pictured it.

A month ago, he bought a Polaroid camera specifically to take pictures of him and Jensen on the day before and of their wedding.

They were supposed to tackle this thing as a team.

Anaya makes a cup of chamomile tea for him upon his arrival home. Jensen presents him with a few bottle caps, buttons, and silver spoons.

Unlike the night before, Jared doesn’t dream. He sleeps in bed, with Jensen on the headboard, and goes to sleep at a somewhat reasonable hour. Jensen remains quiet, more subdued, which adds to Jared’s unease and sense of dread. For whatever reason, Jensen insists on falling asleep with a button in his beak.

Whatever gives him comfort. Jared doesn’t argue.

In the morning, Jared wakes up half an hour before his alarm.

Small feet tread carefully on the bed. Green eyes look over. It’s odd to see the difference between how much space Jensen once occupied in bed versus the current miniscule amount.

This is it.

The Big Day.

 _“You don’t have to do this,”_ Jensen says in nearly a whisper. _“You can call it off.”_

 

“Is that who you think I am?”

_“That’s not what I meant.”_

“You are still _you_ , Jensen.” Jared sits up. “I just feel like… I’ve let you down.”

_“Never.”_

“I should have been able to fix this.”

_“And I shouldn’t have created a situation for you to fix.”_

“I…” Jared runs a hand through his hair. “Why did you sleep with a button last night?”

Jensen tilts his head down and looks at the button, which he keeps near his feet. _“This is what I have to give to you. It ain’t much. But maybe you can keep it in your pocket today.”_

Nothing gets easier after that.

Jared halfheartedly cleans the living room while Jensen sits on the mantel. Anaya comes over to help him get dressed. She fought off his cousins with promises to set them up with Jensen’s five brothers. Jared points out that Jensen is an only child; Anaya snaps that if he wants results, he should learn a thing or two about green eyes, long lashes, freckles, and perfect smiles.

The plan is to change into his tux at the gardens.

So Jared showers and changes into a pair of jeans and one of Jensen’s sweaters. He ignores the fact that the sleeves are an inch or two too short and it’s a little tight in the shoulders.

Walking out into the kitchen, Anaya presents Jared with a last minute wedding gift.

 _“Not bad,”_ Jensen chirps, standing as tall as he can. _“Right? I mean, the other groom beats me hands down, but this isn’t bad.”_

She made Jensen a white bowtie on a collar and slipped it on him. Jensen proudly shows it off, aware of the contrast it makes against his feathers.

Jared picks Jensen up and kisses the top of his head.

“You look very handsome, Jen.”

Anaya forces Jared to eat some breakfast. She lays out some cranberries for Jensen. The three of them pick at their food and Jared shows Jensen where to perch for the ceremony. He’ll set up one of Great Aunt Val’s cages at the altar. After the ceremony, they’ll take pictures and pray that they can get through the explanations and reception.

Whatever consequences from the elders of Lancaster that may come their way will just have to wait. Jared plans on doing everything they’ve spent months planning, from their first dance to the pictures to feeding each other cake.

No one is going to ruin today.

When Madame Saanvi shows up at their front door, escorted by her eldest son, Jared faces her without hesitation.

She’s going to know the truth later today. He might as well get this over with.

He invites her in for a quick cup of tea, explaining that he needs to leave soon in order to make it to the gardens on time.

“I won’t take up much of your time, dear,” she says, using her walker to make her way through the house. “I just came to offer any last minute assistance.”

Madame Saanvi used to take tea with Jared’s mother. She knows her way around. Once in the kitchen, she spots Anaya first, then the stately black crow on the island.

“Jensen.” Madame Saanvi takes a seat with her son and Jared’s help. “What a nice bowtie.” She then asks that Jared please put on a pot of tea, and to get a cauldron going. They have a lot of work to do and not a lot of time to do it in.

Jensen flaps his wings.

Jared stands there--unable to move.

“Come now,” Madame Saanvi quips. “The world hasn’t ended. Let us start.”

She says the world hasn’t ended, but Jared still expects it to do so. He awaits pieces of the sky to fall down, right smack on his head, and for his whole concept of reality to shatter. How many times throughout his childhood did Madame Saanvi and his mother emphasize The Thirteen? And how many times did he hear it from elders that should a Mundane attempt magic in an improper fashion, then that Mundane should not practice? How could they ever truly fit into their community?

Madame Saanvi accepts a cup of tea from Anaya.

“I expect both of you at our next cemetery walk.” She takes a sip of tea and sets the cup down on the island. “And no more trying to turn roses into doves.”

Jared tries to talk, but fails to find the words.

So, they start.

 

 

Two hours later, two grooms arrive at the gardens.

They need to change into their suits.

Two minutes before walking down the aisle, Jared reaches over and smooths down a patch of Jensen’s hair.

“I told you,” Jared says and tucks a button into his tuxedo pocket, “not to pluck at your own feathers.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> ahhhh! it's done! SO MANY THANKS to my artist sillie82 and my betas: T, G, J, and N!
> 
> song lyrics from "stay" by sara bareilles.


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